


so in the woods, it's hiding...

by ifnot_winter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Broken Families, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester Feels, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Sex, Emotionally Repressed, Emotionally Repressed Winchesters (Supernatural), Estrangement, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Feelings, Incest, M/M, Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 17:10:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifnot_winter/pseuds/ifnot_winter
Summary: Dean's eyes, the cool green of envy or jade and he's aroused, dizzied by want, his skin feverish against Sam's, but his soul isn't behind it, and something in Sam twists painfully, wrenches apart, lies broken. Like Dean's eyes when he left, and he wonders if there's enough glue in all the backwater towns and truck stop convenience stores they've ever passed through to even begin to piece this back together.





	so in the woods, it's hiding...

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. I wish.

Originally published 05-27-06, part of an ongoing project to shift all of my ancient fanworks to ao3.

\+ + +

He begs and pleads and offers with his mouth all the tender things, the apologies Dean will never let Sam speak even though they both know Dean needs to hear them. Sweet little presses of lips and nuzzles and gentle-rough hands sliding beneath the edges of Dean's clothes to beg for more, now, please. Sam's fingers soothe the broken edges of years spent outside the sphere of shared experience, tracing the braille of Dean's freckles in carefully couched requests for surrender. It takes far more work than it used to, relearning the navigation of the hurdle of Dean's pride and the added obstacles of the festering chasm of time apart.

For the first time, he's inside Dean, but he's still not _inside_ ; Dean's below him, spread out and pressed by all of Sam's weight and want into the off-white rasp of motel linens, his body's secrets and imperfections laid open for Sam's perusal, but his eyes are bleak like the text of the 'no trespassing' notices they've been ignoring for years. Dean's eyes, the cool green of envy or jade and he's aroused, dizzied by want, his skin feverish against Sam's, but his soul isn't behind it, and something in Sam twists painfully, wrenches apart, lies broken. Like Dean's eyes when he left, and he wonders if there's enough glue in all the backwater towns and truck stop convenience stores they've ever passed through to even begin to piece this back together.

Sam kisses Dean just so, tongues meeting briefly like the accidental brushing of palms when they walk, always too close, and sees in the brilliant slice of green between Dean's lashes an echo of himself fading into the distance, fractured and pressed as carefully as tears behind smiles and slightly-off humour and mullet rock, always two notches too loud. Sam sees, and mourns.

To have shattered the truest thing he's ever known is crushing.


End file.
